Firstborns
by Scribbler
Summary: Pre canon. Isis and Rishid work to save Malik before it's too late. The legacy of the Tomb Keepers, however, has always been written in blood.


**Disclaimer:** Agonisingly not mine.

**A/N: **Written for Challenge #024 'inheritance' at the ygodrabble Community on LiveJournal.

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_**Firstborns **_

© Scribbler, December 2010.

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The responsibility was too great for a small boy. It was too much for anyone; small or not; boy or not.

"But father, the world has moved on!" She tried reason. She wasn't modern enough for tantrums, but her voice rose an octave and tears pricked the backs of her eyes. "_I'm_ your firstborn."

"The firstborn _son _must inherit the legacy. It is our way," he said, resilient as a rock inside a mountain. Nothing could weather or wear him down. "It has always been our way."

"Exactly!" Frustration burned inside. Her hands clenched into fists. She unclenched them. She couldn't give him any excuse to dismiss her as a petulant child. He had to take her seriously or nothing she said would take root.

He frowned. His eyes were brisk as the desert. Nothing could take root and grow in those hot sands. "You will watch your mouth, Isis. It isn't your right to question our ways. Remember your place."

She drew herself up. Only eleven but nearly as tall as him. It didn't matter. She would forever remain beneath his notice except when he wanted a meal or someone to rub his feet. She loved books and studying; the world fascinated her; she knew more of their history than her brothers; she could outthink his advisors, bend her mind around corners and had the charisma of a natural leader. People would listen and follow her. Yet it wasn't enough. It would never be enough. _She _would never be enough.

Not for her father, at least. She was enough for her baby brother. Malik didn't care she was a girl. He loved her nonetheless. His eyes brightened when she entered their room. He left the scroll he was meant to be studying and held out his arms for a cuddle. He was always hungry for cuddles; ironic as the people willing to give them, risking their father's wrath, dwindled.

"Ishish!" Malik lisped, delighted. He had lost another tooth. He was growing up – too fast. Their mother should've been there to see. She should've been there to fight for them.

Would their father have listened to a wife more than a daughter?

Malik patted her cheeks. "Why are you shad, Ishish?"

"What?" She touched her face. Her fingers came away wet. "I'm fine."

"But you're crying –"

"I stubbed my toe."

"Does it hurt?" He radiated concern. She loved him, but thought again he'd been born into the wrong family.

Rishid eyed her speculatively from his place in the shadows. "You're not fine," he said after she put Malik to bed with another eye-stinging story about the outside. "You spoke to him?" He didn't have to say who.

"It… didn't go well," she admitted.

"I warned you."

Frustration returned like fire in her belly. "I had to try." She glanced at Malik, so small in his bed. "He's too gentle, Rishid. He can't undergo the ritual. It'll kill him."

"But neither of us are allowed to take the carvings for him," Rishid reminded her bitterly.

Her fists clenched again. This time she didn't unclench them.

….

"Rishid, what's wrong?"

Rishid blocked the doorway. "Don't go in there, Malik."

"Why? Is it Father? Rishid, what's going on? Where's Isis?"

Half-moons appeared in Rishid's palms from his clenched fists. The blood had held most of his attention, but he had still seen the empty stone where the Millennium Items should have been. "Isis… has gone away."

"Where?"

"I don't know."

"But why?"

"Because…" Rishid stumbled. He should've stopped her. He should've done it first. He should've carried them both off into the night. He should've fulfilled his responsibilities as eldest. He smothered Malik in a cuddle that was nothing to do with comfort and everything to do with his own guilt. "Because she's the strongest person I know, but the Tomb Keeper legacy was too much even for her."

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_**Fin.**_

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